


Born to Run, a side story, or: Studies of Gypsies and their Saviors, One.

by dollylux



Series: Born to Run [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Homelessness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Iker met Sergio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born to Run, a side story, or: Studies of Gypsies and their Saviors, One.

"Man, fuck this place. Just fuck this place. You know? This isn't a goddamn fraternity." Nick glares in disgust at the small gathering of people in the rundown house that is being called a frat house. Iker finishes the rest of his beer and looks around innocently, not quite sure why it really matters if this is a fraternity or not because the beer was free and there was plenty of free love to be had. He lifts his hand to make a point and he sways a little too easily, only now realizing that he's tipsy. He grins, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"I'm totally okay with that."

"There's a real frat house about two blocks from here. Come on." Nick grabs Iker by the sleeve of his hoodie and pulls him, causing Iker to stumble a little but he rights himself quickly.

"But what if I don't really care?"

"Tough. I care. This is a joke. You wanted me to take you to a frat party. So I'm gonna take you to a frat party."

Iker sighs, letting himself be led out of the house, tossing his bottle at an overflowing trashbag as he does. He had been in a fraternity at Princeton. He knew that all the frats here were a joke compared to the one he had been a part of. He had just been bored and maybe a little horny and wanted to let off some steam. He shoves his hands in his pockets as they start down the street, his shoes crunching over litter, plastic cups and fliers and beer cans. Nick's sudden laugh breaks into his aimless train of thought and he looks over at him, eyebrows raised, demanding an explanation.

"Homeless kid with a guitar. Fucking idiot if he thinks he'll still have it in the morning." Nick nods over to the building they're just now passing, a large, grey concrete number with large shoots of weeds and grass growing up around it, practically hiding the small body tucked against it, shivering in the night and guarding a guitar, just like Nick had said. Iker's heart thuds dully in his chest.

"Let's leave him alone, okay?"

"Nah, let's have some fun. This night's gonna suck anyway. Hey!" And Nick is off, wading through the thick grass and Iker follows him almost urgently, ready to stop him at a second's notice and not afraid of retaliation. "Get up and play us a song!"

The boy's eyes open and Iker stops halfway to him and just stares. His eyes seem to glow, so much so that it's alarming. Iker looks around for the possible source of light and finds the moon hanging right up there with the bright stars, the night cloudless and vicious and terribly beautiful. He hadn't even known it was a full moon. He watches the boy shove tighter against the building as Nick approaches him, his full mouth drawn into a defensive frown. Iker watches his hand tighten around the guitar and his chest tightens, though with what, he has no idea.

"I can't. I'm sorry. But I really can't."

Nick kicks at the boy's leg and he flinches, his pale skin shining and he tries to move away from Nick, his lashes fluttering as he does.

"Why the fuck can't you? You're homeless. You don't have any fucking money, obviously. You gotta earn money somehow, right?"

"I _can't._ " The boy's voice is weak but his words are clear and he looks back at Iker for the first time. Their eyes catch and the boy does not look away, does not blink. Nick moves toward him again and the boy doesn't move this time. Iker steps forward without even realizing it, pushing his way between him and Nick. He crouches there in front of him and sees that the boy is wearing just a t-shirt, just a dark green t-shirt with a company logo on it that he doesn't recognize and a pair of dark pants. He looks him over and then meets his eyes again and the boy looks calm somehow, looks like he understands now, looks like he's almost ready to smile.

"What's wrong?" Iker's voice is much softer than he's let it be in years. The boy looks away, ashamed, and gives a single shake of his head. Iker examines him again, his eyes stopping this time on his right hand which has a dirty bandage around it. He reaches for the hand and the boy sucks in an audible breath, curling his fingers closed tight and pulling his arm close to his chest.

"Nothing."

"This is boring now, bro. Just let him die here in peace. He's no fun anyway." Nick grabs the hood of Iker's hoodie and tries to jerk him up by it and Iker stands in a flash, turning to Nick and his eyes are flashing so angrily that Nick takes a step back.

"Go home, Nick."

"Why? So you can take this piece of trash home and fuck it? There's plenty of pussy at the party. You don't need to fuck a fag. You're not that desperate, right?"

Iker's jaw protrudes as he grits his teeth and the boy can see his hands ball up into fists secretly at his side.

"Just go. Right now."

"Alright, alright, chill, man. Jesus, I was just fucking kidding anyway. Have fun." Nick's face is full of disdain and he gives the kid another kick for good measure before he walks away, doing so quickly because he can feel Iker advancing toward him.

Iker backs down after he's sure that Nick is definitely leaving and he lets out the breath he's been holding. He turns to the boy again and finds that he's now on his feet, that he's reaching down for his guitar with his left hand, that he's pushed a falling-apart backpack onto his small shoulders. He takes a step past Iker but Iker stops him, grabbing ahold of one of the straps hanging off his backpack and tugging on it gently to get him to hold still. The boy doesn't look at him and his eyes are suddenly lifeless, dull, tired. Iker suddenly notices that he's very gently shaking all over, a fine shiver hovering over his skin, in the porous parts of his bones. Iker unzips his hoodie and the boy lets out the softest laugh, his cheeks flushing pale pink and he looks down at their feet.

"Knight in shining armor."

"Just a good guy. You're freezing. Quite literally to death." Iker peels his hoodie off and he realizes immediately how fucking cold it really is and he tugs on the boy's backpack to remove it once again so he can drape the hoodie over his shoulders, helping him guide his arms through the long sleeves that completely cover his hands. The boy watches Iker with solemn eyes as he zips him up in the hoodie, zipping it up as high as it will go and Sergio balls the excess fabric up in his hands to hide them completely from the night.

"Thanks."

"Wanna warm up for awhile?"

"The jacket is enough. Thank you. And thanks for..." The boy nods in the direction Nick disappeared to, his features shadowed with trouble. Iker licks his lips that are chapping quickly and he can only imagine what this boy has been through. He can only imagine.

"Just for a little bit. I even have some instant hot chocolate."

The boy, a lover of warm things, of hot things and the sun and the summer and everything that is not this night except for his savior here, pauses. Iker is offering warmth and the boy is tired. He's just tired.

"...Does it have marshmallows?"

Iker grins, relieved. He bends over to pick up the boy's backpack that contains his every possession and throws it over his shoulder, slinging the guitar over it and starting back toward the sidewalk slowly, making sure the boy, who feels helpless with his hands full and his body warming, follows.

"It's got extra marshmallows."

 

\--

 

Iker sits on the floor in his livingroom, staring at his couch. The boy, whose name, he's learned, is Sergio, the boy is curled up there under three whole blankets, all of them ancient quilts made by Iker's great-mamaw. Sergio is clean from the shower, his hair long and pulled back in a wet ponytail that is leaving a damp mark on Iker's pillow. He's snoring softly and it seems so uncharacteristic of him even though Iker only met him a couple of hours before, it seems so vulnerable of him that Iker can't help but feel like he should savor the sound. The boy is beautiful, there's not a doubt in his mind. He's beautiful in a way only a handful of people in your life ever truly are, he's beautiful in a way that he will never forget his face, he will never forget how he felt when he first saw him, he will never forget just how naked he feels when their eyes are holding. He had eaten half a pan of Pillsbury biscuits (with apricot jelly), he had eaten leftover chili (Iker's one great dish) and he had drank exactly one quart of water and three full mugs of hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows. They had only talked just a little, more Iker talking than Sergio because he was eating, because his throat hurt, because he really was tired. Iker grabs a pillow from the recliner with a sigh, stuffing it under his head and lying down himself, facing away from the television that is droning on about things less interesting than the sleeping boy he's turned toward and he takes his glasses off, folding them up beside him and he falls asleep almost immediately, lamp by the table on, television on, soft snoring filling his ears.

\--

"Iker?"

Iker's eyes snap open immediately and he reaches for his glasses, shoving them on his face and blinking up at the boy who is still on the couch, still buried under blankets. His eyes are heavy with sleep and his voice is whisper soft. Iker suddenly wonders how he'd heard him at all.

"Hm?"

Their eyes meet again and Iker feels drunk. He sits up, waiting for him to speak again. Sergio doesn't sit up but he lifts the blankets, revealing his small body shoved back into the deep couch, revealing the open space in front of him and the invitation is clear. And welcome. Iker shifts, crawling toward him and his body creaks as he lays down beside him, turning to face him and trapping him against the back of the couch. Their eyes find each other again and Iker finds his hand on Sergio's cheek, stroking first up and then down and he wonders how this happened, why this feels okay, why this isn't alarming, why this feels so comforting. Sergio snakes an arm around Iker's neck and he draws him in and they kiss so, so softly, Sergio's tongue lapping tentatively at Iker's and Iker can feel Sergio's fresh bandage against the back of his neck. He deepens the kiss then, filling Sergio's hot mouth with his tongue and they push even closer together, hips meeting and their mouths don't let up for a second, for a long time. Iker kisses at the boy's eyebrows when their mouths have had their momentary fill and Sergio kneads the back of his neck as best as he can. They search each other's eyes and it feels more intimate than kissing, somehow.

"Tell me about your hand."

"A... a man cut me. With a knife. From..." He shifts to show Iker his hand, not taking off the bandage but presenting the hand to him. Iker takes it with his one free one, strong fingers stroking at the skin and then very tenderly at the bandage. He brings a kiss to the center of it and Sergio smiles, licking his lips before he continues talking. "From the top corner down toward my thumb. It's not healing very well. It... it scares me. A lot."

"We'll take care of it." Iker draws Sergio's arms around his neck again and they kiss slowly, deliberately, learning each other's mouths, the rhythms of tongues and the pressure of lips and the taste of each other. Sergio smiles into the kiss and his arms tighten in a hug around Iker's neck.

"We?"

" _I._ I will take care of it. Just sleep now. Okay?" Iker tips his head up to press a kiss to both of his brow bones, feeling the boy's smile against his neck and then two shy, wet kisses. Sergio keeps his face burrowed there, grateful for the warm air all around him and he does fall asleep, trapped between Iker and the back of a worn couch and he's warm. He's finally warm.


End file.
